


Madman with a Box

by J_L_Nevole (Brambleshadow_of_WindClan)



Category: Def Leppard, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:07:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/J_L_Nevole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The guys in Def Leppard have seen some very strange things over the course of their 10-year recording career. However, this madman with a blue box is definitely <i>the</i> strangest thing they’ve ever come across. For one, the man claims to be an alien. For another, his police box is bigger on the inside and can apparently travel through time and space. More than that, he’s lonely and wants them to come with him. This cannot be good for all involved—especially the Terror Twins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is _not_ going to become a new series. No. A thousand times no . . . 
> 
> Crossover with a certain British sci-fi TV show, in case you haven't figured that out from the summary and title. I have no control over the plot bunnies anymore. *sigh*

Flashing lights, countless faces, and the sound of their music often lifted Joe and the rest of his band into a high that no drug could ever match. As he bounced around the stage, occasionally sharing the mike with Sav—his bassist—or Phil or Steve—his guitarists—Joe couldn’t help but catch sight of an odd-looking audience member. Granted, this was the early nineties; but still, who wore a brown suit, an overcoat, and converse to a rock concert? Great hair though: dark brown, tousled, sideburns . . . And Joe was paying attention to that detail because . . .?

He shrugged it off and continued on with the show. Besides, when he next looked, the strange man was gone.

Joe didn’t think much about the stranger until the band was backstage, having a meet-and-greet after the show. He wasn’t entirely sure if the others had seen him, or if he had just imagined the whole thing. After touring and playing in dimly-lit stadiums with moving lights, the faces in the audience blurred together. So he didn’t know why this one face had stood out.

“Hello,” a voice said, and Joe looked up to find he was looking at the man he’d spotted earlier. “Great show, absolutely brilliant. I’m Doctor John Smith, by the way.” He was shaking all five members’ hands now, a wild grin on his face. A shadow crossed his face and the smile faded when he reached Steve. Quietly, almost too softly for Joe to hear, Smith whispered, “I’m so, so sorry. If there was anything I could do, I would, but it’s a fixed point. It’s one of those rare times where I can’t interfere. With anything else I would, but . . .”

Both Phil and Steve looked at him in bewilderment. Phil asked, “What are you on about?”

“Ask your mate,” John replied, already looking around him. “You haven’t seen anything strange happening around here recently, have you?”

“Aside from you, you mean?” Joe blurted. Too late, he realized he should have kept his mouth shut when that dark brown gaze turned on him. For having such a young face, those eyes were old, incredibly old, and suddenly filled with so much emotion—anger, pain, loss—that Joe involuntarily took a step back.

“Yeah, aside from me.” There was that smile again, so very disarming. How could one person have so many mood swings in such a short window of time?

Sav shrugged. “We’re in a rock band,” he pointed out. “We’ve seen loads of insane stuff.”

“Meh. Not as much as I have, I bet.” John glanced over his shoulder, where several impatient fans were waiting to greet the band. “Um, sorry. I should go. Don’t want to be run over. No one does, really. See you lot later.”

He was gone before Def Leppard could even blink. Then they were swarmed, and it was an hour until they could return backstage to their dressing room. Somehow, none of them were surprised to find the messy-haired John Smith lunging in one of the sofas. What did surprise them, however, was the big blue box parked in the corner. 

“H-how did—?” Rick started, eyes wide as he stared at the box.

“I parked her,” John said casually, lurching into a sitting position. (Joe noticed he’d changed clothes into a T-shirt and ripped jeans— _very_ casual wear for him, it seemed, though he was still wearing converse.)

“Her?” Phil asked, gaze flickering from the blue box to the stranger.

“Yeah. She’s mine. And it’s not like you haven’t given your car a gender.”

“Fair point,” Steve admitted, flashing an amused smirk at his Terror Twin. Phil’s returning look was half-annoyed, half-amused; then he broke into a grin.

“How did you get past security?” Rick asked, bringing Joe’s attention back to the spiky-haired man in their room who shouldn’t even have made it inside there in the first place.

“Well, no one really notices a blue police box materializing inside an empty dressing room, do they? ’Specially when they have other places to be. And I used this,” Smith said, pulling an old leather wallet out of his jeans pocket and flashing paper that Joe could have sworn was blank for a second. He blinked, and it read: _Doctor John Smith, UNIT._ (UNIT stood for United Nations Intelligence Taskforce, Joe remembered.) “The paper’s low-level psychic. Shows them whatever I want them to see.”

“You’re not really with UNIT, are you?” Sav said. It was more of a statement than a question.

“Nah. Well, I used to work for them, but that was, oh, six lifetimes ago. Well, maybe I’m working for them now in a previous incarnation. Time travel—it’s confusing. I can’t cross my own timestream, y’know. The universe would probably explode.”

“Sorry, what?” Joe spoke up, wanting to see if he’d heard right. _“Time travel?”_

“It’s possible. Besides, people don’t understand time,” John said.

“Then what is it?” all five Lepps said in unison.

“Complicated. It’s very complicated.”

By now, the various members of the band had drifted to comfortable places in the room: Steve and Phil were on the other sofa, with Rick sitting next to them; Sav was leaning against one of their lockers; and Joe was leaning against the wall with his legs crossed and arms folded. The lead singer said, “Try explaining it for us then.”

John sighed. “How do I put this? Oh, got it! Okay, so, people assume that time is a straight progression of cause to effect; but actually, from a non-linear non-subjected viewpoint, it’s more like a ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-whimey . . . stuff.”

“I think that sentence got away from you, mate,” Sav said with a smirk.

“It got away from me, yeah.”

Joe seized on something the man had said earlier. “Hang on—‘six incarnations’? What’s all that about?”

Doctor John Smith sighed and facepalmed. “Can’t believe I said that. My gob says stuff before my thick brain catches up. First off, my name’s not John Smith; it’s the Doctor—not really, but it’s what I go by.”

“Doctor who?” Joe asked.

“No, it’s just the Doctor.”

“So . . . you’re not human, then,” Phil said slowly.

“Nope,” the Doctor said cheerfully.

“But . . . you look human,” said Steve.

“No, you look Time Lord. We were here first.”

“Time Lord,” Rick said faintly.

“Yep. I’m from Gallifrey. Not that it means anything to you lot, of course. You wouldn’t even know about it. ’Sides, you humans are still searching the moon and have only just sent the Hubble Space Telescope. Hang on—this is the year 1990, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be the first time the TARDIS has sent me to the wrong year and place.” The Doctor looked strangely relieved.

“TARDIS?” Sav asked.

“Yeah. That’s this police box here. It stands for Time And Relative Dimension in Space. She’s my ship.”

“But . . . it’s a police box,” Rick pointed out.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Sherlock. Anyway, she didn’t always used to look like a 1960s police box, but her chameleon circuit is broken. Now she’s stuck like that—and I’m rather quite fond of that shape. And don’t knock the TARDIS. She’s sensitive.”

Joe’s mind was scrabbling for some way to make sense of this whole conversation. The only question that came to mind was, “Why are you even here?”

The Doctor smiled again. “I just wanted to see you lot in concert. Best British rock band ever, right up with Queen and Led Zeppelin . . . How could I resist? Love the darker songs and B-sides, by the way; you should play them live more often. ‘Billy’s Got a Gun,’ ‘Too Late for Love,’ ‘Die Hard the Hunter,’ ‘Desert Song,’ ‘Fractured Love’, the list goes on. . . . I’m rambling, aren’t I? Sorry, people usually stop me when I’m rambling.” He chuckled a little.

The Leppards just stared, occasionally blinking when their eyes began watering. 

“So,” the Doctor said suddenly, breaking the silence, “do you want to come with me?” He jumped off the couch and opened one of the doors to the blue box, shielding the inside so the band didn’t have a clear view of what was inside.

“How can we all fit in there?” Sav asked. (Personally, Joe thought that was a fair question.)

“You’ll see.” There was that grin again, though this time it looked a bit smug.

Before any of the Lepps could move, there was a sudden loud noise from outside the door—Joe thought he heard a voice cry, _“Exterminate!”_. The Doctor—naturally—went over to the door, opened it a tiny bit, peeked outside, and then slammed the door shut. He pulled out a metal device and aimed it at the lock. The end glowed blue as a high-pitched _whirrr_ ing noise filled the room. Then the Doctor was running towards the band and the blue box, yelling, “Inside the TARDIS! _Now_!”

For once, there were no questions. It wasn’t until the doors shut behind the Doctor that Joe turned around and took in his surroundings.

“Oh my God,” Sav breathed, voicing Joe’s thoughts exactly.

“It’s bigger on the inside,” said Rick.

“Wicked,” Phil and Steve said in unison, flashing excited grins. 

“Yeah, Time Lord technology,” the Doctor said from where he was flipping levers and knobs and whatnot on the mushroom-shaped console in the middle of the room. The transparent column in the middle of it glowed green; large tubes or pistons or whatever—Joe didn’t know what to call it—began to move up and down. A grinding, grating noise filled the room. “And in answer to any questions, we are currently flying in the Time Vortex.”

“The what?” Sav said.

“What, didn’t I mention that this travels in space and time? I thought I did when I told you what ‘TARDIS’ stood for.”

“Well, this is just great,” Joe muttered sarcastically, loud enough for his bandmates to hear. “We’ve been kidnapped by a bloody time-traveling alien.”

“Yep.” The Doctor was wearing a maniacal grin as he dashed around the console. Finally he stopped and crashed on a yellow jump seat not far from what looked like a tiny TV screen, or maybe a computer. He laced his hands behind his head and studied the band, looking almost pleased with himself. “Well, I’d say this is the largest number of companions I’ve picked up at one time in my nine hundred years of existence. Possibly the most famous, too.”

The band just stared, unable to find anything to say to that. Sav broke the silence by tilting his chin at the device in the Doctor’s hand (that he was casually throwing up into the air and catching) and asking, “What is that?”

“What, this?” The Doctor glanced down, as if surprised to find he was still holding it. “It’s my sonic screwdriver.”

“A sonic screwdriver,” Steve repeated, eyes glued to the screwdriver.

“Yeah, a screwdriver that’s sonic. Haven’t you ever been bored?”

“Do you really want an answer to that question?”

“Not really. So! Where do you want to go? All of time and space just waiting for you. Past, future, other planets . . .”

Joe met Sav’s eyes, who looked at Rick, who looked at Phil, who looked at Steve. Steve, for his part, exchanged an amused—and slightly disturbing—smirk with his fellow Terror Twin. “Surprise us,” the lanky guitarist told the Doctor.

The Time Lord sprang up from his seat, sonic screwdriver back in his jeans pocket, and yanked down a lever. “I know just where to go,” he said with yet another wild smile. _“Allons-y!”_


	2. Count the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After accidentally landing on Satellite Five, the guys meet the Vashta Nerada.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Leppard, this story takes place sometime in 1990. For the Doctor, it's after the 2009 special _The Waters of Mars_. And if you want to find out about the Vashta Nerada, watch the episodes "Forest of the Dead" and "Silence in the Library." There are also references to the season 1 episodes "Bad Wolf" and "Parting of the Ways." I've tried explaining it as much as I can, but those who don't watch _Doctor Who_ and are reading this might get a bit lost.

After a few minutes, Joe voiced something that had been bothering him: “What was that outside the door, Doctor?”

“Hhmm?” The messy-haired Time Lord glanced up from the console, his gaze darkening as Joe’s question sank in. “That was a Dalek.” He spat out the word with so much hatred that Joe and the other Leppards found themselves inching to the opposite side of the console, as far away from the strange alien as they could get. “They _murdered_ my people in the war, the Last Great Time War. On the outside they look like giant pepper pots, but don’t let that fool you; the actual creature is inside. They’re mutations; the only emotion they know is hate. The Daleks see themselves as the supreme race in the universe; any living thing that is not a Dalek is exterminated. All they know how to do is hate and kill; you’re lucky I was there.”

Joe suddenly felt nauseous. Sav paled. The singer said, “You’re saying we would be dead.”

“Yeah. Thank me later.” The Doctor focused on the console with such intensity that Joe wondered if he’d forgotten they were there.

It was Sav, being the sensitive one, who picked up on key phrases: “When you said they murdered your people . . .” 

“I’m not just a Time Lord,” the Doctor said. “I’m the last of the Time Lords. And _they_ just keep on surviving, never mind the fact the Time War is stuck behind a Time Lock.” His voice had turned incredibly bitter. “My planet was destroyed for nothing.”

“We’re sorry, mate,” Rick said softly after a long minute of silence.

When he next looked up at the band, the Doctor’s brown eyes had softened and a smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, I know. ’S not your fault. You weren’t there.” He pulled at something on the console—from this angle, Joe couldn’t tell what it was—and the column was no longer glowing green “Here we are, wherever or whenever _here_ is.” 

“You’re saying you don’t know where we are?” Joe said incredulously.

The Doctor nervously ran a hand through the hair at the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I set the coordinates for New Earth, but since the TARDIS has a habit of taking myself and former companions to other times and places than intended, we could be on Skaro or Raxacoricofallapatorius for all I know. Or Clom, the twin planet of Raxacoricofallapataorius. It’s not my fault.”

Phil, who was now studying the console, fingers twitching like he wanted to start touching and messing with various controls, commented, “I’m guessing you had to take a test to fly this thing?”

“Yep. I failed it.” The Doctor was heading into a smaller room off the main one the Leppards were in.

“That makes me feel _so_ much better,” Joe muttered sarcastically, choosing to ignore his bandmates’ laughter.

Seconds later, the Doctor reappeared. He’d changed out of the jeans and T-shirt to the brown pinstriped suit Joe had first seen him in, but he still had on the converse and was shrugging on a tan trenchcoat. Phil, Steve, and Sav eyed him with raised eyebrows. (Then again, Joe figured, their fashion sense wasn’t much better.)

“So, old girl,” the Doctor said to apparently no one in particular, “you _didn’t_ drop us on Skaro or Raxacoricofallapataorius, did you?”

Lights flickered as the room hummed indignantly.

“What was _that_?” Rick and Steve said in unison.

“The TARDIS,” the Doctor replied, heading for the outer doors. “She’s alive and sentient, did I not mention that?” He opened one of the doors and stuck his head out. “Huh. Look’s like we’ve landed on a space station instead of New Earth. Oh well.” He shrugged, turned his head in the direction of the band. “ _Allons-y_!”

“Huh?”

“It’s French. Means ‘Let’s go.’ Now, are you coming, or do you want to stay here in the TARDIS?”

Not surprisingly, the Terror Twins were the first band members outside the TARDIS. Phil’s voice carried to the others: “You’ve got to come see this!”

Exchanging glances, the other three members stepped out of the police box. The Doctor took up the rear, shutting the doors behind him. There was a faint _click_ as the doors locked.

_That can’t be good,_ Joe thought uneasily, but his uneasiness vanished when he stopped and looked around. Yes, they _were_ in a space station. A _space station._

“I’ve been here before,” the Doctor said, studying the walls of the room they’d walked into. “This is Satellite Five. If we can just find an observation deck . . .” He suddenly took off. The Lepps stood stunned for a second before following.

Joe couldn’t help looking around as they walked through the space station, and he glimpsed the others doing the same. So far, it didn’t seem like there was anyone on board except for them.

“Where is everyone?” he asked the Doctor.

“What do you mean by ‘everyone’?” was the reply.

“People. Humans. Why, what do you mean?”

“Aliens,” was the matter-of-fact response.

Def Leppard exchanged looks before shrugging and deciding to leave it at that.

“Ah, here we are,” the Doctor said at length, stopping in a large rectangular room with a window taking up the entire opposite wall. “Joe, Sav, Steve, Rick, Phil, you are currently looking at the Fourth Great and Bountiful Human Empire in the year . . . 200100, if my time sense is right—and it is.” He frowned. “We should have seen some people by now, though. So, where are they?”

Joe had tuned him out by now. He was too busy staring out the window at the blue-and-green-and-white planet below. “Blimey,” he breathed. “It’s . . .”

“Earth,” Sav murmured, eyes wide. Rick’s boyish face was alight with awe, and as for the Terror Twins . . . for once, Phil and Steve were speechless. (Joe was grateful— _that_ wasn’t something that happened very often.)

They had all seen the images from satellites and probes in their own time, of course, but seeing their home planet like this was something totally different. They were viewing Earth through their own eyes. From _space_.

Maybe he was dreaming. There was no way this could be real.

“Oh, it’s real,” the Doctor murmured from behind him. Joe swung ’round, eyes questioning.

“Quite a few of my companions have had the same reaction, don’t worry.”

Joe’s green eyes narrowed. “And what happened to them?”

Those dark eyes were pained. “One’s alive but trapped in a parallel universe; one has had her memory wiped of me, she can’t remember me or she’ll die; and the other is married and working for UNIT. This is in the future for you—early twenty-first century. I’ve been on my own for a while now. The Lonely God, some call me.” There was the faintest hint of a smile. “Dunno why they call me that. I’d make a rubbish god.”

Joe couldn’t help cracking a smile at that. Despite the fact that his band had been kidnapped by this man and everyone back at the stadium was probably “exterminated” by now, he found that he liked the Doctor. It was almost impossible _not_ to like him. Something about him just screamed that he was trustworthy and knew what he was doing.

“Anyway,” the Doctor said briskly, turning away from the singer to address the rest of the band, “you lot are so concerned with your lives down there, dreaming about the stars, that you never consider that you’ll expand out into space—into three other galaxies, in fact.” He fell silent. When Joe managed to get a look at the Doctor’s face, he saw it was furrowed in deep thought. “By this time period, Satellite Five should be crawling with _Homo sapiens_ and other alien species. So where are they?”

The Time Lord abruptly turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the five Leppards hot on his heels.

“Doctor,” said Rick nervously, “does it seem darker in here than it was before, or is it just me?”

The alien skidded to a halt. “You’re right,” he said, eyes flicking around. “Do yourselves a favor, yeah? Stay out of the shadows. And whatever you do, don’t let your shadows cross.” The Doctor went into a brisk walk, paused at the entrance to the next room, and bit out something in a lyrical language that Joe didn’t recognize.

“What is it?” the singer asked, trying to look over the Doctor’s shoulder. He caught a glimpse of stripped bones, but that was it.

“I think we found out why there’s no one on board,” the Doctor said. (Was that fear in his voice? No, more like grim realization.) “Vashta Nerada.”

“Sorry, what?” said Phil.

“They’re the piranhas of the air. Most planets have them, but only in small clusters. The only other time I’ve encountered a swarm like this was in the Library. That’s not darkness, and these aren’t shadows. They’re swarms of Vashta Nerada—literally, the shadows that melt the flesh.”

“‘Most planets,’” Sav repeated, horrified. “They’re on Earth, too?”

“Yes. Anywhere there’s meat there’s Vashta Nerada. You can see them sometimes—the dust motes in sunbeams.”

“Are they in every shadow?” Steve asked.

“No, but any shadow can become infested. So count the shadows. If you have two . . . I’m sorry, so, so sorry, but there’s nothing I can do for you.”

“So what do we do?” Joe asked.

The Doctor tilted his head. “Daleks, aim for the eyestalk; Weeping Angels, don’t blink; Nestene Consciousness, anti-plastic; Vashta Nerada, run.” He looked over his shoulder at the band. “Just run.”

“Sounds good to me,” Phil muttered.

The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver and set it to scan. After a few minutes he said, “We’re okay. The swarm’s moved.”

_Where is it?_ Joe wondered apprehensively. It took a lot to make him scared, but this was reawakening an ancient fear of the dark. While he wasn’t running-around-screaming-terrified, he _was_ nervous.

The Doctor was already moving forward, making sure to stay out of the shadows. Joe and company did the same.

“Where are we going?” the singer asked.

“Good question. Floor 456, maybe? How’s that sound?”

“Um . . .”

“Brilliant!”

Sav, who had been looking back, gulped. “Um, Doctor?”

“Yes?”

“I’m guessing it’s not normal for lights to go out one by one.”

“No, it’s not. RUN!”

The band of five bolted, following the Time Lord (he knew this place better than they did, after all). They stopped in front of a lift— _They have lifts on space stations? SERIOUSLY?!_ —and the doors slid open with a little help from the sonic screwdriver. All six of them piled in, the doors closed, and they were heading up.

“Why didn’t we just go back to the TARDIS?” Sav wondered out loud.

“Because now I’m curious,” said the Doctor. “In all the other times I’ve been here, there hasn’t been any Vashta Nerada. So, how did they get here?”

“Hitched a ride, maybe,” Joe suggested with a shrug.

The Doctor smiled at him. “I knew I liked you, Joe Elliott. Good suggestion.” He fished around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of black-framed glasses. After slipping them on, he met the Leppards’ open stares. “What? These are my brainy specs.”

“You probably just wear them to make you look clever,” Joe scoffed.

“Well, there is that, yeah.”

Rick had to cover his mouth to muffle his snort of laughter. The others smirked.

Then the doors opened and they stepped out into a dimly lit room.

“Here we go, everyone. Torches.” The Doctor pulled out five torches from his pockets and handed one to each Leppard.

“How—” Sav started.

“They’re bigger on the inside. _Don’t_ say anything.” This last was said in a warning tone to the Terror Twins, both of whom were wearing that smart-alecky look Joe was so familiar with. The Doctor, meanwhile, had pulled out his own torch and was shining it round the room. Joe flinched in surprise when he saw that it was a set for a TV show.

“What is this floor?” he asked.

“Well, if I remember right, this was the floor for game shows. Basically, in this time period, Satellite Five is like a big broadcasting studio. News, games, dramas, you name it, it’s here. This particular area is the set for _The Weakest Link_. I hated that robot. Captain Jack liked it. Mind you, it _did_ come in handy defeating Daleks . . .”

“Um, Doctor?” Rick prompted. “The Vashta Nerada?”

“Oh, right! Stay in the light, you lot. Don’t, I repeat, don’t stray into the shadows.” Again, he pulled out the sonic screwdriver and scanned the room. “Oooh, we’ve got a live one. Anybody have any chicken legs on them?”

They just looked at him blankly.

“Blimey. Where’s River Song when I— Oh, right, in the Library’s computer. That was rude of me, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, a bit,” Joe said.

“Rude and not ginger, that’s me. _Why_ can’t I ever be ginger? I’ve always wanted to be ginger.”

Sav sent Joe a look that said, _Is he for real?_

_Unfortunately, I think so._

_We’re doomed._

_No kidding._

Amazing how they could say all that without speaking.

“Anyway!” The Doctor slowly backed away. “Let’s just . . . head back to the lift and TARDIS, shall we?”

“Whatever happened to wanting to find out how they got here?”

“Like I said: Vashta Nerada—run.”

“Coward.”

“Oi! I’d take coward over killer any day, thanks.”

Phil’s head tilted to the left as he considered it. “Yeah, me, too.”

“Besides, I make it a point to keep my companions safe. You’ll be safer in the TARDIS.”

“And what about you?” Steve challenged.

The Doctor whirled around, dark brown eyes stormy. Instinctively the band shrank back, sensing that this was not someone you wanted to mess with. “Do what I say exactly when I say it if you want to live, because right now you should be scared. _Very_ scared.” His left hand was rummaging in his coat pockets again. He pulled out a strip of meat and tossed it toward the shadows. It was gone in milliseconds.

It had only made it a couple yards before vanishing.

“Lift. _Now_!” the Doctor barked.

There were no questions this time. Wordlessly, the band and the Time Lord crammed inside the lift. Within a minute, they were back on the same floor that they had started on.

“TARDIS. Go. Run. Now,” the Doctor ordered.

“But—” Steve started to protest.

“ _Do it_!”

Joe hated feeling helpless, but he followed the Doctor’s orders and _ran_. (Besides, he didn’t really want to die far into the future. None of them wanted to die anytime soon, except maybe— No, he wouldn’t let himself think about that, about Steve’s drinking problem, how it was steadily getting worse.)

They made it inside the TARDIS and turned back, but the doors slammed shut and locked.

“ _No_!” The hoarse cry didn’t even sound like Joe’s voice. He pounded on the TARDIS doors. “We’ve got to help him!”

The doors stubbornly remained locked. While she wanted to help her thief, the TARDIS also wanted his companions to be safe. Besides, she liked this strange group and sensed that they would be good for her thief. He’d lost it for weeks after visiting that red planet, declared himself above the laws of time—the Time Lord Victorious. No more of that, thank you. She’d had enough; and besides, one lonely Time Lord was dangerous enough. Add in his recent madness . . . He needed someone to stop him.

“Joe.”

Sav’s soft voice and hand resting gently on his shoulder reminded Joe that his bandmates, his best friends, were here with him. 

He just hoped the Doctor would make it out alive.

*

The Doctor had moved to the observation deck where there was plenty of natural light. Unfortunately, this also meant that the only shadow in the room belonged to him—unless you counted the ones cast by the marble steps.

Flashing back to the Library and the mysterious River Song didn’t help anything either. Their first conversation— _“Oh, don’t tell me you’re archaeologists.” “Got a problem with archaeologists?” “I’m a time traveler. I point and laugh at archaeologists.”_ —didn’t seem as funny when he remembered how she had sacrificed herself to save him, Donna, and the rest of her team, or when he stopped to consider her relationship with his future self (and to be honest, that scared him).

Maybe he really should just go. Get in the TARDIS and hope the swarm found somewhere else to live. After all, there wasn’t any fresh meat anymore . . . except for him. And it wasn’t like they could get inside his timeship. The assembled hordes of Ghangus Kong couldn’t break through those doors—he should know; they’d tried. 

Sometimes, he really hated his curious nature. He just couldn’t leave stuff alone, always had to be in the thick of things. The one time he’d tried altering a fixed point, it had disastrous consequences.

Then came the knocks.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

“Three knocks is all you’re getting!” he spat, lunging for the door. It slid open to reveal a skeleton inside a spacesuit—an entire swarm of Vashta Nerada inhabiting the suit, controlling it. It moved forward with jerky, zombie-like movements, and again the Doctor recalled all too vividly his time with these creatures in the Library when they had picked off members of the archaeologist expedition team.

His body darted around the grotesque puppet before his brain even registered that he was moving. Then he was running—always running. He sure did a lot of that; no wonder he was a skinny bloke this time round.

Voices played inside his mind. Other Dave: _“Hey, who turned out the lights?”_ Miss Evangilista: _“Where am I?”_ The cool female voice of a computer: _“Donna Noble has left the Library. Donna Noble has been saved.”_ They all added to his increasing fear. His twin hearts pounded in his chest, a mixture of adrenalin and terror making them beat faster, running through his veins.

He was running so fast that he ran right past the blue police box. Skidding to a halt, he turned back and jammed the key into the lock, turned it, opened the door, and slipped inside. The door swung shut behind him, the faint click reassuring him that they were safe—for now.

The Doctor opened his eyes—When had he closed them?—and saw the five Def Leppard members were looking extremely relieved that he was here with them.

“You made it,” Rick said from his perch on the yellow jump seat.

“Yep. ’Sides, you need me to fly her. It’s not like you’d figure out how to fly a TARDIS on your own.”

“What about the Vashta Nerada?” Phil asked.

“They’ll find another place. There’s no more meat here for them to live off of.”

“You’re sure about that?” said Steve.

_No._ There was no way he was telling them that, of course. “Pretty sure.”

Sav, meanwhile, was studying him. “Are you okay, Doc? You look pretty freaked out.”

“Don’t call me ‘Doc,’” the Doctor grumbled. The only person he tolerated calling him that was Captain Jack Harkness—and he didn’t even like Jack all that much. Meeting Sav’s eyes, he said a bit louder, “I’m okay.”

That, of course, was Time Lord-speak for “I’m not really okay” but Sav didn’t push it, thank Gallifrey. The Doctor hated domestics.

He shrugged it off like he always did and flashed his usual grin. “So, now that you’ve seen the future, how about the past?”


	3. The Angels Take Woodstock

“Ah, here we go,” the Doctor said a couple minutes later, heading for the door. “1969. Great year. I take it you’ve heard of Woodstock?” He flashed a grin at Def Leppard over his shoulder.

“Who _hasn’t_ heard of Woodstock?” said Rick, while his bandmates looked like Christmas had come several months early.

“Are we seriously at Woodstock?” Joe asked.

“Yep.”

“Really?” That was Steve.

“Really.”

“Honestly?” That one was Phil.

“Why don’t you go outside and find out?” Without further ado, the Doctor opened the TARDIS doors and stepped outside. His latest companions weren’t far behind.

Thankfully, it looked like they were in the field where the famous concert had been held. Santana was onstage playing a ridiculously complicated guitar solo—the six of them could hear the music from here, even if they couldn’t clearly see the performing musicians. Besides, considering that the Leppards had grown up listening to 60s and 70s rock, it was child’s play for them to identify the artist after listening to a few measures of the song. For the 903-year-old alien with them it was a bit more of a challenge; however, both this and his ninth incarnation appreciated popular culture. That, and his knowledge of history—even though he was the first to argue with history, being a Lord of Time and all. (Certain tiny precious moments were fixed in time; the rest of history was in flux. He went to museums to keep score, not for educational experiences.)

At least they didn’t stand out too much. This was America in the 1960s—anything goes.

The Doctor just hoped there weren’t any evil aliens anywhere nearby. Having already encountered Daleks and Vashta Nerada in one day was enough. Oh, who was he kidding? There was _always_ trouble when he was around.

For the moment, though, he was content just to sit back, relax, and enjoy the best rock ’n’ roll artists of the decade. And all five Leppards were in music heaven.

During a break wherein the stage crew was setting up for the next artist, the Doctor turned to his companions. “If you want to have a look around, feel free. Just don’t wander off too far.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said in a voice that made it clear he wasn’t really listening. The tall white-blonde guitarist tugged at Phil’s shirt sleeve. “C’mon, Phil!”

The two of them took off. Joe commented, “You shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why?” the Doctor asked, eyes flicking over the crowd.

“They’re not called the Terror Twins for nothing, Doctor.”

“Aw, come off it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Sav shook his head, smiling slightly. “That is one phrase you never want to say when you’re talking about Phil and Steve, mate.”

“Oh.” The Doctor thought about that, shrugged. “Okay, then. Well, off you go. How many chances are you going to get to be at Woodstock?”

Joe and Sav were off and moving through the crowd in the same direction the Terror Twins had taken. That just left the Doctor and Rick, and they were soon on the move as well.

*

The Doctor was actually enjoying himself, right up until the point he saw the statue.

It resembled a beautiful young female angel, save for the fact it seemed to be weeping. Of course, the Doctor knew it wasn’t weeping.

“Rick,” he said, surprised at how calm he sounded, “do you see that statue over there?”

The one-armed drummer followed his gaze. “Yeah. What about it? It’s just a statue.”

“Only when someone is looking at it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rick asked, turning his head so he could look at the Doctor. The Time Lord’s eyes were glued to the statue.

“They’re quantum locked,” he explained. “It’s a fact of their biology. No choice. In the sight of any living creature the Weeping Angels literally turn to stone.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Okay, then. I’m going to blink in three seconds. I want you to look back at the statue. Ready? One. Two. Three.”

He blinked.

Rick looked back at the statue and jumped. It had moved closer to them. He swore it had.

“It moved.”

“Yep.”

“What do we do?”

“Try not to blink.”

“Oh, thanks.” That came out way more sarcastically than Rick had probably intended.

“Running like hell’s also a very good option.”

“You do that a lot, don’t you?”

“Yeah. Good for the health. And when you travel with me, you find there’s an awful lot of running to do.”

“Ah. Mind you, that does sound like a great option.”

“Find the rest of your band?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds good.”

They ran.

*

Phil and Steve were having a brilliant time exploring the grounds. Sure, the ground was muddy—if he recalled correctly, it had rained almost the entire first day—but Phil didn’t care. They were at _Woodstock._ He would’ve been too young to go when it was going on. With a jolt he realized that his younger self was back home in London _right now_ , maybe watching telly or playing football while his current self was here standing in a muddy New York field. No wonder the Doctor had said that time was very complicated. How had he put it? A big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-whimey stuff. No kidding. If he thought about this much more, his mind would explode. Not really, but it would bring on a massive headache.

“Hey, Phil,” Steve said, “come look at this.” The taller guitarist was a few meters ahead and looking at what appeared to be a stone angel crying into her hands. “Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked when Phil joined him.

“Yeah, I guess so,” the former Girl guitarist conceded after a moment of studying the stone angel. And it was, in a way. There was something graceful about it so that it almost seemed real.

Phil turned his head away to look for his bandmates and the Doctor. Steve glanced over at some bird that had caught his attention.

They looked back at the Angel.

It had moved closer by a foot, Phil was sure of it.

“Steve,” he said slowly, “did that statue just move?”

“Don’t be daft. Statues can’t move.” But Steve looked troubled all the same.

They kept their eyes on the stone angel until Phil suggested, “You want to keep moving?”

“Yeah.”

As one, they turned their backs and walked away.

Behind them, the Angel lifted its head from its hands, stone eyes fixed on the Terror Twins.

*

In another area of one of the fields, Joe and Sav had grabbed some food and were enjoying the music when the bassist noticed a collection of stone statues. Upon closer inspection—and after dragging over a very reluctant singer—he saw that they were crying angels.

“I don’t remember seeing these in that Woodstock movie, do you?” he asked Joe.

“No,” the blonde replied, frowning slightly. “I’d think I’d remember seeing a bunch of stone statues.” He leaned in closer for a better look.

“Joe, Sav, get away from it!” came the Doctor’s voice.

Bassist and singer jumped back, heads snapping round in the direction the Doctor’s voice had come from, and saw the alien and their drummer sprinting full-out towards them.

“Keep looking at it!” Rick shouted, skidding to a halt when he reached them. The Doctor did the same, only he dragged the bassist and singer well back from the Angel.

“What’re you—?” Joe yelped, clawing at the air in surprise, snapping his head round to face the skinny alien.

“Try looking back at it,” the Doctor said evenly, though Joe could see something that looked like fear in his eyes.

Beside him, Sav gulped. “Joe . . . the statue.”

“What about it?” he snapped.

“Just look at it.”

When he did, he was almost too scared to blink.

The Angel’s face had morphed into a snarl, stone fangs bared, outstretched hands curled into wicked claws.

That shouldn’t be possible.

“Back away and keep looking at it,” the Doctor ordered, before doing exactly that and taking Joe, Sav, and Rick with him. “Now run. We have to find Phil and Steve.”

All four of them legged it, heading to where they’d last seen the Terror Twins.

It wasn’t long before they ran into them—literally. Joe and Sav went crashing into Phil and Steve and landed on the ground in a tangle of hair and limbs. With Rick and the Doctor’s help, they untangled themselves and climbed to their feet.

“So, Doc,” Phil asked, “what’s with the statues? They’re all over the place.”

“The Weeping Angels. They used to be called the Lonely Assassins. They’re the loneliest creatures in the universe, nearly as old as the universe itself. No one knows where they come from, and they’ve survived this long because they have the most perfect defense system ever evolved: They’re quantum-locked. They don’t exist when they’re being observed. The moment they are seen by any other living creature, they freeze into rock. No choice, it’s a fact of their biology. In the sight of any living thing they literally turn to stone. And you can’t kill a stone.” He tilted his head to the right. “’Course, a stone can’t kill you either, but . . . then you turn your head away. Then you blink, and oh yes it can! That’s why they cover their eyes. They’re not weeping; they can’t risk looking at each other. Their greatest asset is their greatest curse. They can never be seen.”

“Why are they called the Lonely Assassins?” Sav asked, thoroughly spooked by now.

“They’re the only sociopaths to kill you nicely. One touch sends you back in time and you live to death. They feed off time energy, so they’re eating all that could have been in your life when they zap you. So don’t let them touch you.”

“So now what?” Joe asked.

“Listen very closely, because your life could depend on this: Don’t blink. Don’t even _blink_. Blink and you’re dead. They’re _fast, faster than you can ever believe. So _don’t_ turn your head, _don’t_ look away, and _don’t blink_.” He paused for a couple seconds, then said softly, _“Got it?”__

The band nodded, their expressions tense. 

“Good.” 

There was silence; then Sav said, “So how do you defeat them?” 

“You don’t. The lat time I saw them, I got trapped with Martha—my then-companion—in 1969 while my TARDIS was in the early twenty-first century. The Angels captured it, but I’d left Easter eggs on DVDs belonging to a Sally Sparrow. To make a long story short, she and her friend were able to send the TARDIS back to me. It dematerialized and the Angels surrounding it were stuck looking at each other.” 

“Can’t we do the same thing?” Joe asked. 

The Doctor shook his head. “I’m not letting the Angels get their hands on the TARDIS again. The damage they would do will turn off the sun.” 

“That’s bad,” Steve commented. 

“Very bad. You want to know how bad? Think of your worst day and heap a truckload more of bad onto it. Besides, there’s too many of them. It wouldn’t work.” 

“What about mirrors?” Sav asked. 

“No. That which holds the image of an Angel becomes itself an Angel. I don’t want any more Weeping Angels to deal with, do you?” 

“No,” the band said in unison. 

Rick suddenly asked, “What are they doing here anyway? None of us remember seeing Weeping Angels in the documentaries.” 

“History is in flux,” the Doctor said. “There are tiny, precious moments that are fixed, or always have to happen. The rest of history can be changed, and this—unfortunately—is _not_ a fixed point." 

“You didn’t really answer my question, Doctor.” 

Said alien was now lost in thought. “Hhmm. Maybe they’re just here for the music? No, no, ’sides, I don’t think they have any appreciation for the classics. Then again, this is the biggest concert—or one of them, anyway—of all time. All those people, all that time energy just waiting . . . Oh, that’s clever. Very clever. ’Course, they’d completely alter history, but what do they care? They’ve got all that energy to feast on.” 

“You’re not making sense,” Steve said. 

“I’m making perfect sense; you’re just not keeping up.” 

“Glad to know we’re so appreciated,” Joe muttered under his breath. 

“You’re welcome. Anyway! Weeping Angels. What do we do, what do we do? _Think_.” The Doctor paced, strides short, hands raking through his hair. “We can’t let them get the TARDIS; that’s not an option. Any ideas?” 

Silence. 

“ANYONE?!” 

The band started, surprised and a little bit wary. In the short time they’d known the Doctor, they had seen a few aspects of his personality, but this angry desperation was downright scary. 

“I don’t suppose you could trick ’em into looking at each other,” Sav mused out loud. 

The Doctor stopped pacing and eyed the bassist shrewdly. “And how would I do that, hhmm?” 

“You said they feed on time energy, yeah? How about making them come to you? You’re a Time Lord, after all, as you keep pointing out.” 

A slightly smug expression crossed the Doctor’s face. “I am a complicated space-time event, yeah. What do you want me to do, go out there waving my arms and yelling ‘Look at me! I’m a target!’?” 

The Leppards exchanged sly smiles. 

__Oh great,_ the Doctor thought sarcastically. _I just had to open my mouth, didn’t I?__

*

“Oi! Angels!” the Doctor found himself shouting several minutes later. (How _did_ he get himself into these situations?) “Complicated space-time event over here! Come and get me!”

In the next second, he was surrounded by snarling Angels.

Not good, so _very not good._

“Don’t blink,” he told himself as he swept his gaze around each Weeping Angel. Then he ducked and did what he did best: He legged it.

The six or seven Angels that had surrounded him were stuck looking at each other, but there were more out there. Lots more. Sort of like the Vashta Nerada. (Great, now he was curious to see who would win in a Vashta Nerada vs. Weeping Angels standoff. Then again, when the Daleks and Cybermen had met in Torchwood One, they’d had a major sass battle. It was pretty funny when he looked back on it, but at the time it had been terrifying.)

Joe, Phil, Sav, Steve, and Rick were well back from the Angels, so thankfully the Doctor didn’t have to worry about them too much. He was _not_ going to lose any more companions, especially not his most famous companions to date, not on his watch.

So, now that he’d dealt with half a dozen (or seven) of the Angels, what was he going to do with the rest? Just how many Weeping Angels were here, anyway? The ones he’d encountered before had been scavengers, so there’d only been a handful of them. How was he going to get out of this one so he could take Def Leppard back home?

_There’s always a way out._

Now he just had to find it.

Okay, so, think. What did he know about the Weeping Angels? Lonely Assassins, quantum-locked, nearly as old as the universe, feed on time energy, kill by zapping you back into time, can never be seen . . . _Can never be seen. “Their greatest asset is their greatest curse.”_ Yes, yes, but how would that help? If he could just see how many Angels were here . . . How, though?

A very familiar song began playing: “Rocket” off of _Hysteria_. The Doctor whirled around to face the stage, somehow not surprised to find five very familiar figures up there.

“Oh, you’ve _got_ to be kidding me.”

At least the crowd seemed to like them. Granted, it was about fourteen years before they would really make it big—maybe even less—but it wouldn’t alter the timelines _too_ much.

The Doctor’s eyes moved from left to right across the stage, keeping both an eye on the Lepps and scoping the place out.

Hang on.

There were metal framework towers on either side for the sound system and lights. If he could get up high enough . . .

“Brilliant!” The Doctor grinned and ran. If some people were shoved, it wasn’t his fault. They were in his way, and couldn’t they see he was on a mission?

In about three minutes he had made it to the stage—at least all that running was good for something—and, after shooting the Lepps an encouraging smile, hopped up onstage close to the nearest tower. Thoroughly ignoring the crew, the Doctor began climbing, looking out over the fields every few seconds for more Weeping Angels. So far he could just see the seven that he’d tricked. Odd. He could have sworn there were more Angels here than that. Unless these were just scavengers as well? And if so, what did it matter if they weren’t? Well, if they weren’t scavengers but Angels at full power . . . In that case, they were as good as dead.

_No! Not happening. The laws of Time are mine—and they WILL OBEY ME!_

Time could be rewritten, after all. He could see everything: all that is, all that was, all that ever could be. And his many companions could spend the rest of their lives with him, but he couldn’t spend the rest of his lives with them. That was the burden of being a Time Lord. And the Doctor was the only one left.

Something he’d told Captain Adelaide Brooke (of Bowie Base One on Mars, 2059) came to mind: _“For a long time I thought I was just a survivor. But I’m not. I’m the winner. That’s who I am. The Time Lord Victorious.”_ Her response was that the Time Lord Victorious was _wrong,_ and no one should have that much power.

He hadn’t cared.

Currently, the Doctor swept his gaze over the fields one more time. He could just see the Angels in a circle, stuck looking at each other—nothing else. 

No! There had to be more here; there just _had to_. It _couldn’t_ be that easy. Well, then again . . . most of the problems he’d faced had somewhat of a simple solution—for him, anyway, but that’s what happened when he was as clever as he was—and he was a genius.

“Rocket” changed into “Rock! Rock! (Till You Drop)” and the Doctor became aware that several stagehands were gesturing for him to come down. So he gave in and started climbing down, puzzling all the while over the Weeping Angels. Maybe these _were_ just scavengers after all.

Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. It never was.

*

Someone had finally figured out that Def Leppard had never been on the list of performing artists, so they were eventually kicked off the stage and the proper order was soon reestablished. The band and Time Lord had begun making their way back to the TARDIS when they ran into more of the stone statues.

All six of them froze, the Doctor reminding the Lepps not to blink.

“Who blinks?” Sav said. “I’m too scared to blink.”

“Same,” Phil admitted reluctantly.

“Great. Brilliant. _Molto bene_.”

“Doctor?” Joe said conversationally.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not helping. So shut up.”

“Nine hundred three years of existence and I’ve never been told to shut up like that,” the Doctor muttered.

“Don’t care.”

“That much is obvious.”

“Will you two shut it?!” Sav snapped, not taking his eyes off the Angel in front of him. “And Doctor, if you have a plan, now would be a good time.”

“Why me?”

“You’re the genius, as you keep pointing out, being so clever and all.”

“Well, there is that, yes.” The Doctor swallowed hard, his mind racing. _Think. Think, think, think. Can we force them into a circle, since I’m assuming this is a different batch? Lead them to the TARDIS? No, not happening. Gah! I’m thick. My head is so full of stuff! I need a bigger head! Next time, maybe. Then again, I don’t want to regenerate. Not yet. Why would I? I like this body. Anyway! Weeping Angels. Get rid of. Hhhm. Maybe I could rewrite Time so they don’t exist? No, that would create a paradox, one where I would never have met them and therefore we wouldn’t be in this situation. Besides, Time would send the reapers to heal itself._ He hated this, hated panic, and he _was not panicking_! Okay, maybe a little. Well, maybe a lot. If they got zapped back into time, there would be no one to send the TARDIS to him. This was bad, very, very bad.

“Doctor!” Which bandmate was that? He wasn’t sure, didn’t know who, didn’t want to know. “Plan. Now.”

The Time Lord snapped out of it. “Okay. Circle up, back to back. Are there any Angels behind us?”

Phil turned his head to look behind him, choked out an affirmative.

“Keep looking at it, and don’t blink!”

“No worries there, Doc. Too scared.”

“Great. Fear keeps you alive, keeps you fast.” The Doctor counted off how many Angels were there. One, two, three, four, five, six. One for each. Great. So that meant there were twelve or thirteen Weeping Angels total at Woodstock. Hardly enough for an army, meaning they were scavengers. That was good. Well, there were less Angels to worry about, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous. Just one Angel was deadly.

The group formed a tight circle, each one taking their eyes off an Angel for a millisecond. It was just enough: The Angels surrounded the six time travelers, stone fangs and talons bared. Shallow breathing alerted the Doctor to just how scared the humans were; his own two hearts were pounding rapidly in his chest. He was more scared than he’d been in any of his lives, even more scared than when he’d met the Vashta Nerada or that creature that had possessed Sky on the planet Midnight. (Very scary, that one, since it had left him without a voice. Long story. Look it up.) 

“When I say three,” he breathed softly, just loud enough for only the Lepps to hear, “duck. No, really, duck. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered.

“One. Two. Three.”

They hit the ground, being careful not to touch any of the Angels. (Honestly, after having that trick work twice, you would think the Angels had learned by now. Apparently not.) Then they crawled out from under the stone statues, still being careful not to touch them. Once clear, they made a break for the TARDIS, nearly choking on hysterical, relieved laughter. At least they’d made it; they were still alive.

The six of them collapsed on the hill where the Doctor had parked his timeship; the Doctor was too tired to look for the TARDIS key. Besides, he wanted to stay and watch the rest of the concert. As it turned out, so did the members of Def Leppard.

What could he say? He needed a break. Maybe the band did, too.


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's going to be a two-parter, mostly because I didn't want this chapter to go on forever, and partly because I still don't know where I'm going to take it. To be honest, I still don't even know where they are at. It's an as-of-now unnamed planet is all I'm saying.

When the concert was over the Doctor ushered his companions back into the TARDIS.

“So, what did you think?” he asked, leaning against one of the coral struts that lined the console room.

“That was really cool,” Phil said.

Joe amended, “Well, the Woodstock part was great. Weeping Angels? Not so much.”

Sav nodded agreement. “That was terrifying. I think I was more scared of the Angels than I was of the Vashta Nerada.”

Steve, at the mention of the Vashta Nerada, nervously looked down and began counting the shadows.

“No, don’t do that,” the Doctor told him. “Really, don’t. They can’t get inside the TARDIS. She wouldn’t allow it. Besides, the entire hordes of Ghangus Kong couldn’t get through those doors. They’ve tried, believe me.”

“Oookay,” Rick said slowly.

Joe suddenly broke into a broad grin. When the others looked at him askance he said, “I can’t believe we actually performed at Woodstock. Everyone back home’s going to be wondering how we were there.”

The Doctor shrugged. “Wibbly-wobbly—”

“Timey-whimey,” the band finished.

“How—“

“When you’ve been in a group for as long as we have,” Joe explained, “we start finishing each other’s sentences.”

The Time Lord studied the band, brown eyes unreadable. “You really are like a family, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. What about you?” Rick asked.

The Doctor looked down, suddenly very interested in his shoes. “They’re all gone now. Last of the Time Lords, remember?”

“We know,” Sav said. “But what were they like?”

The Doctor looked up from his shoes. “I used to be a father, a grandfather, a long time ago. When they died that part of me died with them. As for what the Time Lords were like . . . they were mostly stuffy, pompous, pacifist gits. I was what you’d call a teenage rebel.” A corner of his mouth hitched up in a half-smile. “I stole a TARDIS—this TARDIS—and ran. I haven’t stopped running since. And I’ve had so many different faces, so many different personalities . . .”

“You lost us, Doctor,” Sav said.

“Never mind. It’s not important.” The Doctor shoved off the coral strut and ambled over to the console. “You’ve been to the past, the future, now how about another planet?” That excited _come-on-you-know-you-want-to_ look was back on his face as he swept his gaze over the band.

“Yeah,” Joe said. “Sure. Why not?”

“Right, hang on, then!” The Doctor entered some coordinates and yanked down the lever. All six of them were thrown off their feet as the TARDIS shook violently. Joe tangled with Sav; Steve, with Phil; the Doctor landed on the jumpseat; and Rick fell back against one of the coral struts, hitting his head.

Poor Rick. That must have hurt, given the rate he’d fallen at—not good.

“Hey, Doctor,” Sav said from underneath Joe, “d’you think you could work on your driving skills? And Joe?”

“Hhmm?”

“You can get off me now.”

“Why? You like it.”

“Joe!” Sav sounded horrified, scandalized, and the Doctor couldn’t blame him. He vividly remembered that time on New Earth when Cassandra—the last human, or so she called herself, reduced to a flap of skin—had possessed him after he’d ordered her to leave Rose Tyler’s (his companion before Martha) body. Even now, years later, he still remembered those words hissing from his mouth: _“Slim, and a little bit foxy. You thought so, too. I’ve been inside your head. You’ve been looking. You like it.”_ The Doctor shuddered at the memory. Possession was _not_ something he wanted to go through with again.

In any case, Joe rolled off Sav and helped the bassist up. To the Time Lord, it didn’t look like Phil and Steve were in any such hurry to regain their feet. Clearing his throat, he asked Joe, “So, are you two . . .?”

“No,” the singer said quickly. “We’re just mates—best friends.”

“Friends with benefits?”

Sav flushed and ducked his head, though the Doctor caught sight of a small smile. Joe shook his head, looking almost . . . not desperate, more like trapped. “It’s not like that. I mean . . .”

“Relax,” the Doctor said, laughter gleaming in his dark eyes. “There’s a man I know—Captain Jack Harkness—that will shag anything that moves. He’s omnisexual—male, female, human, alien. You name it he’s probably shagged it—except a Dalek. I don’t think you can be . . . intimate with a Dalek. Or a Slitheen. Or a Weeping Angel. Or a Racnoss—now _that_ is one big spider.”

At the mention of spiders, Sav’s head snapped up, face pale, blue eyes wide. “Did you say ‘spider’?”

“Yeah.” The Doctor frowned when he took in Sav’s nervous expression. “What’s wrong with you?”

“He has arachnophobia,” Joe explained, “so let’s avoid this Racnoss thing, yeah?”

“Don’t worry about ’em. They’ll remain dormant in the Earth’s core for about another, oh, seventeen years.”

Sav gulped.

“Oh, relax. There aren’t any spiders on the TARDIS, all right? ’Sides, I’m not taking ya back to Earth just yet.”

“Where are you taking us, then?” Phil asked. (He and Steve were finally back on their feet. Rick was, too, but he was looking a bit dazed and confused. The Doctor made a note to scan him with the sonic screwdriver.)

“Well, Skaro and Arcadia are out of the question—they’re behind a Time Lock—and Gallifrey is gone. Mars is overrated; Midnight is lethal; Krop Tor is destroyed, there’s a very long story behind that impossible planet, trust me; and Raxacoricofallapatorius and Clom would be suicidal for me. And somehow, I don’t think you’d be impressed by New Earth.”

“New Earth?” Steve said. “What happened to Earth?”

“Well, year five billion, the sun expands and the Earth gets roasted. For all the humans out in space there’s a big nostalgic revival movement, and they find that planet. Same atmosphere, same size, same orbit. So they settle in. The main city is New New York.”

“You’re kidding,” the Lepps said.

“Nope,” the Doctor said, popping the ‘p.’ “Well, technically it’s the fifteenth since the original, so it would be New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New New York.”

“Wow,” Rick said, taking a few steps forward. Then he swayed a little and his bandmates immediately moved to catch him. The Doctor took out his sonic screwdriver, aimed it Rick’s head, and looked over the readings. “Well, there’s no concussion. You’ll have a nasty bump, but some ice should bring the swelling down. Kitchen’s down that hallway, two rights. It’s on the left side.” At the Leppards’ amazed looks, he added, “What? Surely you didn’t think this was the only room in the TARDIS. Just let me know if you find the swimming pool. She’s moved it around and now I have no idea where it is.”

To their credit, the Lepps seemed to take this in their stride. Hardly surprising, given the fact they had seen some odd things in both their time as a rock band and traveling with him. The Doctor found that he actually liked this group—and not just because of the music. They were fascinating people as well.

He flipped another switch, activating the TARDIS’ sound system, and “Bringin’ on the Heartbreak” played softly throughout the room: _“Gypsy, sittin’ lookin’ pretty, a broken rose with laughin’ eyes. Oh, you’re such a mystery, always running wild like a child without a home . . .”_ His eyes closed, hearts constricting. How long had it been since he’d thought about Rose? And he’d wasted so many chances; instead, he’d left her with his human meta-crisis. Now that his song was ending . . .

_“Your song must end soon. The universe will sing you to your sleep, Doctor,”_ Ood Sigma’s voice said in his head.

_I don’t wanna go,_ he thought.

The voice changed; now it belonged to Carmen, a woman he’d met during Easter holiday. _“You be careful. Because your song is ending, sir. . . . It is returning. It is returning through the dark. And then, Doctor— Oh, but then . . . He will knock four times.”_

 _Oh, shut up._ The Doctor’s eyes snapped open, blazing with ice and fire and rage.

“Doctor?”

Sav’s voice had him hastily switching off the sound system. Struggling to control himself—it wouldn’t do to let his companions see the Oncoming Storm, his other side, his darker side, so soon in their travels—the Doctor slowly turned to see the bushy-haired brunette bass player standing in the doorway to the console room. “Yes, Sav?”

“Where exactly are you taking us? And, please, don’t babble on. It’s annoying after a while. Besides, I get enough of that from Joe. During interviews the rest of us barely get a word in edgewise.”

“I’d noticed,” the Doctor muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Where are the others?”

“Busy exploring. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.”

“You still haven’t answered my original question, Doctor.”

“You never gave me a chance. And I set the coordinates to random. We could end up anywhere. More fun that way, I think. Well, Barcelona has dogs with no noses. I took Rose there once, ages ago.”

“Isn’t Barcelona a city in Spain?”

“I’m talking about the planet. Noseless dogs! Isn’t that brilliant?”

Sav blinked. “Um, okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Good. Now hold on.” A wild light shone in the Doctor’s eyes.

“Why?”

He grinned savagely. “We’re going to rip right through the Vortex. Live a little, Sav. It’s good for you.”

The bassist swallowed. “Doctor, stop it. You’re scaring me. No, scratch that. You’re mad.”

The Doctor’s grin widened. “Oh, yes! Absolutely. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to tangle with a madman in a box?”

Sav said nothing, just lifted his shoulders in a shrug.

“Oi, Sav!” Joe’s voice called suddenly, causing both bassist and Time Lord to jump. “Where are you?”

“Console room,” Sav replied, not taking his eyes off the Doctor. Said Time Lord was busy at the controls, and Sav was relieved to see that he’d mellowed out a bit.

One minute later, the rest of the band was back in the console rom. (The TARDIS constantly moved rooms around for easier access—or whenever she felt like it.) Rick had a bag of ice pressed against the back of his head; the other three looked both excited and amazed.

“Just how big _is_ this place, Doctor?” Steve asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t really know myself, and I’ve lived in her for centuries. Now, are you ready?” He engaged the landing with a flourish and turned to the band, his cheerful mask back in place. “Who wants to go first? New planet, new ground beneath your feet. Never gets old.”

The Terror Twins started for the door, but Joe and Sav swiftly intercepted them. Instantly a wrestling match ensued, each trying to stop the other from reaching the door.

“You two went first on the space station!” Joe protested. “It’s our turn!”

“Tough,” Phil spat, struggling to kick the singer off him.

While the four of them were busy, Rick and the Doctor exchanged glances, smiled, and slipped quietly around the squabbling bandmates and down the ramp to exit the TARDIS. After a few more seconds, the Doctor stuck his head back inside his timeship: “Are you going to fight all day, or are you going to come out here and join us?”

Instantly they stopped and looked over at the Doctor, who waved a hand. “Hullo.”

It wasn’t long before the TARDIS was empty. As soon as the doors closed, all six time travelers took a moment to look around them.

They were standing in a clearing with tall, blue-green grass ringed by silver-barked trees with dark blue leaves. The sky was almost the same shade of blue as back home, but upon closer inspection there was a slight violet tint.

“Where are we, Doctor?” Joe asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been here before. Whole new planet to explore. Isn’t that brilliant?” He was smiling and rocking back and forth on his heels as he said this. “C’mon, let’s explore.” Already he was walking off in direction of the trees. The Lepps quickly caught up. Rick quipped, “Well, we’re not in Kansas.”

His bandmates rolled their eyes but smiled in amusement anyway. The Doctor muttered, “It’s amazing how old that joke gets so fast.”

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yeah. I’m not.”

They kept walking, made it past the treeline, and Steve suddenly froze. The white-blonde guitarist asked, “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Phil asked, eyes scanning the area.

“Sshh.” The Doctor held up a finger, looked around. “Listen.”

Low growls could be heard, along with the crackling of undergrowth as whatever was stalking them crept closer. There was definitely more than one creature, and it sounded like they were about the size of a wolf or another large dog.

Red eyes gleamed from the suddenly-dark forest, and now the Time Lord and his companions could see that yes, these were wolves. Wolves with pitch-black fur, red eyes, and very impressive teeth.

They were also very, very big, about ten or twelve hands high at the withers.

The Doctor muttered a curse in Gallifreyan, while Joe whispered a few choice swear words.

“Bloody hell,” murmured Sav, blue eyes wide. Rick, Phil, and Steve were speechless, though the Doctor—and the wolves—could smell their fear. (As a Time Lord, his senses were superior to a human’s. He’d never really determined just how much, and right now really wasn’t a great opportunity.)

The Doctor tried forcing his legs to move, but he couldn’t send the signals to his muscles. He was frozen in horror, paralyzed, and so was the band.

Drool dripping from bared fangs, pink tongues swiping across muzzles, the pack closed in.


	5. Thriller

“Oh, this is a _very_ bad idea,” Joe heard the Doctor say.

“Why?” the singer managed, unable to tear his eyes away from the nightmare in front of him.

“Because we’re trapped, and if there’s one thing you never _ever_ want to trap if you value your life, it’s me!” The Doctor pulled the sonic screwdriver out of his coat, spend a few seconds messing with it. “If I can find the right frequency . . . Ah! There we go!” He held the screwdriver up, sonicked it, and the wolves yelped with pain and shied away. Def Leppard also yelled and covered their ears—the buzz of ultrasonics had amplified, and it _hurt_.

“ _RUN-AH_!” the Doctor yelled.

Joe didn’t think; he bolted. He could hear the footsteps of his bandmates pounding behind him. Steve quickly caught and passed him; his long legs meant he could easily keep pace with the Doctor. To his surprise, Joe found he was running faster than normal and his entire body felt a bit lighter—less gravity, maybe? So long as it meant he could escape from that demon pack, who cared?

He wasn’t sure how far they’d run when the Doctor finally slowed. At least he couldn’t hear the wolf pack anymore.

Joe also realized he needed to start running more. He was already panting hard, as were his mates. The Doctor, he noticed, wasn’t even out of breath. “That’s not fair,” the singer muttered.

“Respiratory bypass,” the Doctor shot back. “Comes with having two hearts.”

“Git.”

“Jerk.”

“Know-it-all.”

“Pretty boy.”

“Thanks.”

“Wasn’t a compliment.”

“I know.”

“Although, River _did_ call me that once. Or twice. Took me a while to figure out it was me she meant.”

“Like I said: Git.”

“Oi!”

“Oh, don’t start that again,” Sav snapped.

“Sorry,” the Doctor and Joe said in unison.

Phil, once he’d recovered enough, said, “What the hell _were_ those things?”

“Why do people always call it a thing?” the Doctor mused. “You don’t bother to find out what it is; you just go, ‘Oh, it’s a thing.’”

“Doctor,” Joe warned.

“Yes, sorry. Don’t know. I’ve never come across anything like that before. Unless . . . No. Hellhounds? Can’t say I’ve ever seen that. Still, that’s why I keep traveling.”

“Hellhounds?” Sav said. “As in, Greek mythology, dogs of the Underworld hellhounds?”

“Yep.”

“Shite.”

“Course, I don’t believe in hellhounds. Werewolves, vampires, zombies, Loch Ness Monster, sure, but hellhounds?”

“You just said you’ve never come across them before,” Phil pointed out.

“Yeah. I’ve also met the devil—or something claiming to be the devil, anyway. I’m still not sure what it really was.”

A low howl rose in the distance: The Alpha summoning the pack to the hunt.

“Leg it!” cried the Doctor, breaking into a run.

Joe bolted, though he wasn’t sure they’d be able to outrun a wolf pack for very long. There was also the fact those monsters were _huge_ , about the size of a pony.

What planet were they even on? Cos it sure as hell wasn’t Earth.

“I don’t know where we are, Joe, all right?” the Doctor snapped.

“I didn’t—” Joe started.

“Stop talking, brain thinking, hush.”

Angry howls rose again, but they were still far off.

“I don’t—think—those are—hellhounds, Doctor,” said Steve nervously.

“Me either. They look—more like—wolves,” panted Phil. “And we can—see them.”

The Doctor was humming something that sounded suspiciously like “Hungry Like the Wolf.” Joe’s suspicions were confirmed when the alien sang quietly: _“I’m on the hunt, I’m after you. Scent and a sound, I’m lost and I’m found, and I’m hungry like the wolf.”_

“Duran Duran, Doctor? Really?”

“What can I say? I like pop music and rock ‘n’ roll.”

“You’re—a punk, that’s—what—you—are. A punk—with—hair—wearing—a suit.”

“This coming from the rock star with a mullet.” The Doctor was clearly amused.

Another howl sounded, closer this time. Much closer. Joe forced himself to run faster, was dimly aware of the others doing the same.

He went flying past the Doctor, as the Time Lord had suddenly stopped. Joe skidded to a halt and looked back. The singer yelled, “Doctor! What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find out what they want.”

“You can’t reason with them!”

“Just take your bandmates and get out of here!”

Joe hesitated, aware of both his band and the wolf pack. He made up his mind. “Five minutes,” he told the Doctor. “Any more and I’m coming back in case you’re too stupid to live.”

“Sure you haven’t met River Song?” the Doctor muttered.

“Who?”

“Never mind. Just go already!”

Joe’s green eyes hardened and narrowed before he turned round and caught up with his mates. He definitely didn’t like this. If there was one thing he knew, it was that you never left your friends behind.

Not that the Doctor was a _friend_ , exactly, but he sort of trusted the Doctor. Joe just hoped that, this time, he knew what he was doing.

*

The Doctor’s hearts were pounding against his chest as he waited for the pack to find him. Whatever they were, he was fairly certain they weren’t hellhounds. Then again, he had met the Devil . . .

The Doctor shook his head to clear it. When he focused his eyes, the alien wolves were emerging from the trees, melting out of the shadows. (Now that he thought about it, light from this planet’s sun barely penetrated the thick canopy.) Red eyes glowed, low to the ground, as the pack slunk closer.

“Wait!” The Time Lord raised both hands in front of him, palms facing out. “I’m the Doctor! Just tell me who you are and what you want!”

A few wolves raised their lips in snarls, but eased back to allow another lupine through. This wolf was clearly the Alpha, the Doctor surmised. For one, he was at least a hand taller than the others and the pack deferred to him, folding their ears back in submission.

“Oh, you’re beautiful,” the Doctor breathed.

_No, I am Lycaon,_ the Alpha said—except, he didn’t really say anything. The Doctor heard the words inside his head.

So, they were telepathic. Which was good, because his own people were as well.

“Lycaon?” The Doctor frowned. “You can’t be. He died thousands of years ago.”

The wolf’s—Lycaon’s—muzzle curled to show very impressive fangs. _I am the first. I cannot die._

“Yeah, that’s what the Dalek Emperor said before the Bad Wolf turned him to dust,” the Doctor muttered. “Hang on, what do you mean you’re the first?”

_The first werewolf. All the others are named after me._

The Doctor shook his head. “I don’t believe that. All right, say you _are_ the first lycanthrope. How were you created?” He knew the Greek myth, of course. Zeus had turned Lycaon into a wolf as punishment for the king attempting to feed the god human flesh. He’d also met werewolves—well, _a_ werewolf—before, but technically that was a lupine wavelength hemovariform.

Lycaon tilted his head. _I grow tired of this, Doctor. My pack wants fresh meat. And I don’t want to make them wait, not when there is so much prey. We thank you for that._ His hackles rose. _As for how I was created, what does it mater to you?_

The wolves behind him shifted restlessly and let out impatient growls. It didn’t faze the Doctor. He knew they couldn’t attack until their Alpha gave the order.

“Weeeelll,” the Doctor drawled, “if you are what you say you are, let’s see you change, hhm? Unless, of course, you’re stuck as a wolf forever. I can’t recall if the myth said you ever regained human form.”

Lycaon growled softly. _My patience is wearing thin, Doctor._ But he snapped at his pack, driving a few eager wolves back. Then, as the Doctor watched, fur burrowed back under skin; bone, muscle, and organs crunched and twisted as they rearranged themselves. The nose and muzzle retracted, forming a regular human nose and mouth—but the eyes remained blood red and the teeth stayed wolf fangs. It was incredibly disgusting to watch, but since the Wolf King wasn’t screaming in pain, the Doctor assumed it didn’t hurt.

And, thank all the deities he didn’t necessarily believe in, clothing appeared as well. So what if it looked sort of like the robe Voldemort had been wearing in the fourth movie? (And, to be honest, he hadn’t _really_ expected to land the part of Barty Crouch Jr., but it was funny how the universe worked sometimes.) 

He had maybe two minutes left before Joe came back for him.

“Hang on a tic. If you originated from Earth, how did you end up here?”

Lycaon smiled, baring his fangs. “I didn’t originate from Earth. I came through the rift.”

“But that’s in Cardiff. How did you get all the way to Greece?”

“Would you believe me if I said teleport? No, didn’t think so. Actually, I never made it to Greece. The story just traveled across Europe and by the time it reached them it was so distorted and twisted around that they fit it into their mythology.” Lycaon shrugged. “My wolves are impatient, and I am working very hard restraining them from tearing into your flesh, _Time Lord_.”

“So, let me get this straight: If we don’t leave, your pack is going to hunt me and my friends down, therefore preventing me from returning them to their own time. The people back on Earth definitely aren’t going to like that; this group is a bit famous down there. Am I right?”

Lycaon snarled something, and the pack surged forward.

“Right, thanks, that’s all I needed to know,” the Doctor said before turning tail and sprinting toward where he’d last seen Def Leppard.

He crashed into Joe somewhere along the way, sending both of them tumbling to the forest floor.

“What are you doing here?!” the Doctor said in surprise.

“Looking for you,” Joe replied. “I said five minutes, Doctor.”

“It’s been less than that! And I don’t suppose you have any silver bullets?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“Really?”

“NO!”

Lycaon and his pack were coming closer. Joe stared at the man striding amongst wolves. “Are they werewolves?”

“Yep.”

“Run?”

“Oh yes! Come on!”

The two of them scrabbled to their feet and took off, weaving among the dense trees. But the wolves knew this forest better than they did . . . 

“Where are the others?” the Doctor asked Joe.

“Hiding. Got a plan?”

“TARDIS. Get your band back to it.”

“Not happening.”

“Joe—”

“You need us, all right? I don’t care if you’re a bloody Time Lord; you still need someone to help you out.”

“Have they got your mates’ scent?” The Doctor’s voice was urgent, and the intensity in his eyes was scaring Joe a little. Well, considering they were being chased by a pack of hungry werewolves out for their blood . . .

And still, part of him was hoping that all this danger wasn’t just a dream.

Even if there _was_ an awful lot of running involved.

The Doctor slipped behind Joe, let him take the lead. He could hear pawsteps landing closer and closer and started sonicking when the werewolves were in range. There were a few irritated snarls and whimpers, but he didn’t dare look back.

How could he get rid of them? He was fairly certain none of the band had anything silver on their persons and he definitely didn’t. The last time he’d come across a werewolf in 19th century Scotland, him and Rose had used excess moonlight to stop it. In doing so, they’d also discovered how Queen Victoria contracted hemophilia—and that it meant the royal family was probably a pack of werewolves.

Joe suddenly stopped, and the Doctor swerved quickly to the side to avoid crashing into him. Glancing around, the Time Lord saw the rest of Def Leppard were hiding high up in the tree directly above him—except for Rick. The drummer was perched on the lowest branch possible; given the fact he no longer had two arms, it would have been very hard for him to climb up any further.

“What is it we’re dealing with, Doctor?” Sav asked as he climbed down from his branch. He jumped the rest of the way when he was a couple feet above the ground.

“Lycaon and his pack,” the Doctor answered matter-of-factly.

“Lycaon?”

“The first werewolf. Well, technically it’s a lupine wavelength hemovariform, but that’s not the point. At least, I _think_ it’s a lupine wavelength hemovariform.” 

“That’s reassuring,” Steve muttered sarcastically as he and Phil, too, made their way down from the tree.

“Was it? I hadn’t noticed.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “What are we going to do about the werewolves chasing us, Doctor? I don’t suppose you have any silver bullets on you.”

“Sadly, no. And the sonic screwdriver won’t keep them away for long. What about wolfsbane or mistletoe? We’re in a forest; there’s got to be some around here.”

At that point, Lycaon and his wolves appeared. They sure could move silently when they had to—and while stalking prey, they certainly had to be silent. The Wolf King smiled lazily, showing off sharp canines. “Please, Doctor, these are _our_ forests. Do you really think we’d have plants venomous to us growing here?”

“Weelll, not really, no, but it was worth a shot. I’m giving you a chance here, Lycaon. Let them go and I’ll find you and your pack somewhere else to live.”

“And if I don’t?” Red eyes gleamed as Lycaon tilted his head to the side, curling his upper lip in a silent snarl.

The Doctor’s voice was dark: “I’m so old, Lycaon. I’ve seen so many things, so much death, watched my own planet _burn_. I used to have so much mercy. You get one warning. That was it. If you don’t heed it, I _will_ stop you.”

Lycaon’s eyebrows disappeared into his mane of black hair. “ _You_?” Sneering laughter glimmered in his red eyes.

“Yes. Me.” The Oncoming Storm flared in his dark brown eyes, and the werewolves instinctively backed up. He grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes and seemed more predatory than anything else. Lycaon may be the king of wolves, but _he_ was a Lord of Time.

“Phil? Steve?” The Doctor didn’t take his eyes off the werewolf in front of him.

“Yeah?” Steve asked.

“Take Rick and get out of here. Head back to the TARDIS. We’ll catch up with you.”

He could sense the three of them (the Terror Twins had helped Rick down from his branch) edging nervously around Lycaon’s pack. A few wolves snapped at the guitarists and drummer but otherwise the trio was able to pass them without any major incidents.

Hopefully, they remembered the route they’d taken. 

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed as he studied the pack. He could move and see in five-dimensional space; and, as a Time Lord, he had the entire Time Vortex running through his head. He concentrated and was able to see the various timelines of Lycaon’s pack, but, more importantly, he could see _Lycaon’s_ timeline. It would be so easy to mess with it: a tiny nudge here, a shift in choices there . . .

“Doctor, what are you doing?” The voice belonged to Sav, and he was definitely nervous.

“You know,” he said, voice dark and bordering on madness, “once there were people who controlled the laws of Time. But they died. They’re all gone. And you know who that leaves? ME! The laws of Time are mine— _AND THEY WILL OBEY ME_!” Those were the same words he’d said on Bowie Base One, right before he altered a fixed point in history in a very big way. He’d overstepped his boundaries then, but this _wasn’t_ a fixed point. He could do whatever he liked here and now . . . and no one could stop him.

Joe and Sav jumped back, away from him, but he didn’t care. These wolves—Lycaon in particular—had to learn . . .

He concentrated hard on Lycaon’s timeline, considered several possibilities on how to make him meet his end.. He could make it happen, he knew. Time could be rewritten.

A part of him wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner, now that he was the only one of his kind left. It had taken him until Bowie Base One; Mars; November 25, 2059 to realize that.

“Stop it, Doctor,” Joe said. “We know, and we’re sorry, but that doesn’t give you the right—”

The Doctor took his eyes off Lycaon, turned towards the singer. “For a long time now, Joe, I thought I was just a survivor, but I’m not. I’m the winner. That’s who I am. The Time Lord Victorious.”

Joe’s green gaze never left the Doctor’s stormy brown one. “I don’t care. No one should have that much power, not even you. It’s not who you are, Doctor.”

The Time Lord refocused his gaze on Lycaon, who was now looking nervous ( _Good. He should be,_ the Doctor thought), and then up at a heavy branch that was right over the Alpha’s head. If he rewrote Lycaon’s timeline so that branch fell here and now . . .

“Who am I then, Joe?”

Lycaon’s eyes gleamed. “Yes, who are you, Doctor? It’s not even your real name. Your real name is hidden deep within the Cascade of Medusa herself.”

“Oh, like I haven’t heard that before,” the Doctor snarked. “What do you want, Lycaon? Besides fresh prey, I mean.”

“How about your little human pets here, Doctor? Or immortality. If one of my wolves turned you . . .”

“Not happening. You want immortality?” A plan was beginning to form in his mind. “Fine. I’ll give you immortality.”

Behind him, Joe and Sav exchanged shocked looks.

He didn’t care.

*

The Doctor had only allowed Lycaon to come with him and Def Leppard onto the TARDIS. Before the werewolf could so much as say “It’s bigger on the inside”, the Doctor had taken his ship into and out of the vortex. They were hanging above a nebula, and . . . Well, the Doctor was fairly certain he had silver chains somewhere.

Def Leppard had stayed on the far side of the console room, watching silently as the Doctor opened the doors of the TARDIS and sent a chained Lycaon falling into the burning nebula below. Joe shuddered at the expressionless mask on the Doctor’s face. Those eyes were so dark, so incredibly old and unforgiving . . .

And the worst part about it was that he was being kind. Lycaon had wanted immortality, so the Doctor had given it to him.

Ice and fire and rage inside . . . the fury of a Time Lord. That was how the Family of Blood had described him—right after he punished them. They, too, had wanted to become immortal—and wanted to use his Time Lord essence to do it.

The doors finally closed and the Doctor turned to the band.

For once, none of them wanted to initiate conversation.

It was Sav, after a long moment, who said, “Take us home, Doctor. Just take us home.”

“Okay.” He should have known it wouldn’t last, really. One trip into the past, one into the future, one to another planet. And besides, they had a life back home on Earth in their own time. He set the coordinates for a couple days before the band’s next concert date in 1990, sent them back into the vortex with a flick of the controls. The TARDIS landed with its regular grinding noise and sent the band and Time Lord off their feet when she stopped materializing completely.

“Here you go,” the Doctor said, pushing himself up off the metal grating. “End of the line. Your next performance is in a couple of days. Have fun. Don’t wander off too much. And just . . . have a fantastic life, yeah? Blimey, I’m rubbish at saying goodbye, especially with you lot.”

“S’all right,” Rick said with a weak attempt at a grin. “We’ll see you around, yeah?”

The others said nothing, just began heading down the ramp to the doors. The Doctor made a noise that might have been yes, but by then Rick had joined his bandmates. Besides, being a time traveler, he had no guarantee of ever running into them again.

And now he was alone again. The Doctor in the TARDIS.

Next stop: Everywhere.


End file.
